Chapter Text
Sam awoke what felt like years later to Dean's tired voice and the engine shutting off. "Hey, get out and stretch. I don't want to hear you bitch about your sasquatch legs cramping for the next four hours."
Sam grimaced at the bright fluorescent lights of the gas station and wiped the sleep from his eyes. "Oh, shut up."
To anyone else listening, their words would have seemed like nothing more than sibling banter but Sam and Dean knew it was forced. John's presence at the neighboring gas pump was like a neon sign for LIVE NUDES in a monastery.
When Sam had stretched out as much as he could in the car he got out to crack his joints and relieve the rest of his stiffness. Dean tried not to let his eyes linger but honestly there wasn't much else to look at.
Without a word of warning, Dean tossed his wallet in Sam's direction. Sam caught it without missing a beat. "Get me some–."
"Peanut M&Ms and if they don't have those Snickers and as always, check and see if they have good pie. Have I ever forgotten, Dean?" Sam tried his best to give his brother an authentic smile; he could literally feel John's eyes on them like tangible judgment.
Dean smiled reproachfully at himself. "Nope. Guess not."
Sam risked a glance at John who was now focused on taking the gas nozzle out and paying the machine. Judging from the way he was taking his time, Sam knew he wasn't planning on getting back in the truck any time soon. Sam glanced down at Dean's wallet before he headed inside.
"Thanks." Sam said as the cashier gave him his receipt. "Also, do you need a key for the bathroom?"
The overweight man with an uneven beard didn't bother looking up from his comic book as he handed Sam a nondescript silver key. "Don't bother bringing it back. I've got extra and some people don't wash their hands."
Sam snickered and was turning to leave when he ran into a person entering the shop, causing him to drop his items. Sam bent to pick them up, regretting not accepting a bag. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."
"A hunter should always be aware of his surroundings, Sammy." John's reply came.
Sam managed not to roll his eyes but not his lip from curling at his brother's nickname for him. "Don't call me that." It wasn't just that it wasn't Dean using his name -Bobby had used to let it slip when Sam was hurt or sick- it was that it was John saying his name for no other reason than he knew that it bothered Sam. The syllables sounded foreign on his tongue like a demon quoting the Bible in Latin.
John scrutinized Sam for such a long moment that even the cashier and a customer an aisle over stopped what they were doing. But Sam held his ground and refused to look away from his father's gaze. John lips tilted up into a smirk that made Sam's skin ice over. Sam physically had to bite his tongue to keep himself from blurting Christo.
"Right. I forgot. Only Dean." John's tone was condescending and patronizing and did nothing short of making Sam see red.
Sam felt his licorice bend under his death grip. "Yeah. Only Dean, the way it always has been and the way it always will be." And with a final glare Sam pushed passed John and rushed back to the Impala where Dean was waiting patiently and listening to the radio.
Sam yanked the passenger door open and threw the food on the floor. "Bathroom. Now."
Dean must have pulled the car away from the pump and/or contemplated following his brother into the sordid gas station restroom. Either way, Sam was already finished and washing his hands when Dean finally came through the door.
The heavy door didn’t even have time to completely shut before Dean had his arms full of Sam. "Sammy, what're you–?" Sam kissed Dean, silencing him. Dean instinctively kissed Sam back sensing his brother's distress. "Sammy?"
Sam clutched at the front of Dean's coat and bowed his head to his chest, making a noise not unlike an animal in pain. "He...he called me Sammy. And it didn't feel right. I–."
Dean had Sam's head in his hands and was forcing their mouths together as if he could somehow fuse them together by sheer vigor. But rationale won out over lust and Dean reluctantly pulled away, letting his head bounce against the wall behind him. "God, Sam. We can't. Anyone could walk in here. He could walk in here."
Sam shook his head and pulled the key out of his pocket. Sure, the cashier had extras but John didn't know that and he certainly wouldn't assume as much. Sam harshly pressed his lips to Dean's as he dropped the key to the floor.
Dean hoisted Sam up high on his waist and carried him to the sinks. "Fuck me." Sam begged. "Please, I just wanna feel you."
Dean set Sam on the floor, ready to oblige. He pulled Sam to the sink and undid his jeans, pushing them past his knees. "Don't have much time, Sammy.”
Sam whined and tried buck towards Dean. He was stroking every inch of bare skin that wasn't anywhere near Sam's cock. "Whatever you want. Dean, please."
Dean ran the tap for a moment and wet two of his fingers before slowly sliding them into Sam’s hole. He watched Sam for a wince or cringe, to show any signs that it hurt. It had to, taking two fingers, but Sam moaned and grind his hips down.
"More, Dean. Please..." Sam crossed his wrists behind Dean's head and pulled him close, letting Dean kiss his neck, not caring if he left marks this time. Sam needed the pain to –if anything– remind him what all the waiting and walking on eggshells was for. Dean.
Dean took his fingers out and slid down to his knees.
Sam moaned and hopped onto the rusty sink. "Please. We're gonna have to leave soon." Sam managed to stroke his cock once before Dean took his hands and put them on his head. Sam clutched at Dean's hair as Dean opened his legs. Although Dean hadn't replied or even acknowledged Sam he went to work. He parted Sam's thighs and licked a long stripe from Sam's balls to the head of his cock. Sam shuddered and instinctively pulled at Dean's hair. It nearly brought tears to Dean's eyes but he couldn't have cared less. He continued to lick and suck at Sam’s cock, never going all the way, until Sam was sobbing and his knees shook. "Dean, I need–."
Dean stood and moaned as Sam uninhibitedly licked the taste of Dean and himself from his mouth. Sam traced the shape of Dean's mouth with his tongue as his brother pulled on his cock and slipped three fingers back into his hole. "What did you say?"
Sam, even in his state, knew exactly what Dean was talking about. "I...I told him not to call me that –Jesus, fuck– that only you could."
"Damn right." Dean breathed into Sam's damp neck, enjoying the movement of his Adam's apple against his cheek. "Feel good, baby boy?"
"Uh-huh." Sam swallowed and bit at Dean's jaw. "Say it." Dean's mind was a million miles close in a parallel universe where Sam was the center. He didn't answer. Their heavy breaths echoed off the cracked tiled walls and broken cardboard ceiling. "Dean. Say it."
Dean blinked and pressed roughly at Sam's sweet spot as he stroked at his cock faster. Jesus. When did the kid get so beautiful? "Say what, Sam? I'm sure you could find someone to say it just right for you. Wouldn't need me."
Sam shook his head adamantly as his desperately fucked himself on his brother's hot digits. He blinked repeatedly to clear the Dean-thick fog in his head and tried to form coherent words on his numb lips. "No, no. You. Only you, Dean. Only you can–."
Dean was now fucking into Sam with hard thrusts that jolted his brother’s entire body as his other hand waited patiently at the head of Sam's cock. Dean keened and fiercely bit at Sam's neck, until he felt and tasted the faint flavor of blood. Thankfully, Dean still had the mind to stay near the rear of Sam's neck where his hair could cover it. "Come for me, Sammy."
Sam opened his mouth and Dean knew just from the sound of the breath Sam took in that he was preparing to scream a scream that no one would understand without context. Dean sealed his mouth over Sam's and felt his teeth rattle at the force of his scream as Sam white-knuckled Dean's hair and came. Came until he had nothing left and then some. Dean could tell from Sam's now slack body that he wasn't in any position to situate himself. Dean let Sam lean against him as he pulled his brother's jeans up. "Wait." Sam breathed, though it wasn't hard to tell that his voice was going to be hoarse. "You didn't..."
"I'm fine, Sammy. You can make it up to me at Bobby's." Sam whined when Dean's rough hand had to tuck his soft cock back into his boxers but Dean kissed him quiet before going to wash his hands.
When they finally stepped back into the brisk winter cold they both shivered. The too-hot heat of sex finally seeping out of their bones and leaving their skin covered in a sheen of cooling sweat.
More to Dean's surprise than Sam's, John still wasn't back from inside the store. Sam knew that even at rest stops John liked to screen the locals for any strange happenings. Dean slid an arm around his brother's waist and led him to the Impala parked a few strides away.
As soon as the Impala's heat finally kicked in and started to remove the flush from their cheeks, Sam yawned and felt his eyelids begin to droop. He leaned back in his seat in an attempt to get comfortable. After a few readjustments he felt like fucking Goldilocks.
"If you're not too much of a Sasquatch you can always lie down in the back."
Sam's gaze flicked to the backseat. It was tempting but not what Sam really wanted. Sam took off his coat, knowing that pretty soon the heat was going to make him overheat, and turned his back to Dean before lying down with his head in his brother's lap and his legs bent at the knees.
Dean stiffened for half a second. It had been a while since they had done this. Sam nuzzled into Dean's stomach and relaxed his arms over Dean's legs. Dean pushed Sam's hair back from his face and ran his knuckles from his temple to his jaw over and over until his brother's eyelids fluttered slowly before falling shut.
Dean watched with rapt attention as Sam's face smoothed out into sleepy peacefulness. Without even bothering to look around like he usually would have in public, he leant down and kissed Sam's cheek. "Love you, Sammy."
They made it to Bobby's at just under four hours. Sioux Falls had seemed to have drawn the long stick in terms of snow but Dean found himself turning up the heat in the Impala.
Dean drove as slowly as he could over the gravel, trying not to wake his brother. Before John or he could even cut their engines the porch light came on, revealing Bobby nursing a mug and a rifle on his knee beside a tray with three more steaming cups.
Dean slid gently out from under Sam, biting his lip when he stirred. He waved to Bobby as he circled around the car and pulled Sam into his arms.
John was already on the porch greeting Bobby and accepting a mug. "I think I'm gonna just hit the sack. Drove over fifteen hours today."
Bobby whistled. "That's stupid. Even for you."
John chuckled. "Had to see a man about a horse."
"You better be talking about the other meaning."
John glanced at Dean, who was on the passenger side pulling Sam's sleep-heavy arms around his neck, and smiled with one side of his mouth. "We'll talk tomorrow."
And with that John headed to his usual room. As he passed the guest room for the boys, John couldn't help but notice that the twin beds had been switched out for a full. He closed the door with more force than necessary before retiring to his room next door.
Bobby took the two duffels off Dean's shoulder and picked up the tray of mugs. "Hey, Bobby." Dean said softly, stepping over the threshold.
A feeling of safety and home blanketed over Dean's shoulders like a warm towel. He took in the dim yellow light given off by various vintage lamps and inhaled the musty smell of Old Spice and ancient books. Everything was the same and yet different. Books that had been scattered were reordered into different stacks no doubt in some order that only made sense to Bobby and papers that had last been in disarray over Bobby's desk were now in some semblance of a pile by his ancient computer.
Dean felt Sam's body relax even further. Good. So it wasn't just him.
"Good to see you, Dean." Bobby looked at the still fast asleep Sam in his brother's arms. "Guess I'll talk to him in the morning."
Dean laughed, "Yeah, he sleeps like the dead."
Bobby couldn't help the wry smile that bent his lips. "Well, go tuck him in and get settled, but come back down. I wanna talk to you."
"Yes, sir." As often as Bobby had reminded them to just stick to calling him Bobby, Dean still managed to slip up. But Dean had always felt that he was doing it out of respect, not fear of repercussions. He respected Bobby as a man, hunter, and friend and he wanted him to know it.
Dean took their bags back and took the stairs nice and slow. He did a double-take at the bed and smiled. "Thanks, Bobby." He said to the room.
Dean set their bags down at the foot of the bed before pulling the covers back and lying Sam down. He took off Sam's socks and shoes and clothes until he was in nothing but a shirt and boxers. Dean's sure fingers and deft movements made sure that Sam didn't as much as stir.
It wasn't until Dean had kissed Sam on his nose –awake Sam would have probably scowled at him– and pulled away that his brother whined softly.
"Hey, hey, shh." Dean hadn't even realized his voice could sound this soft. "We're at Bobby's. I'm just going downstairs for a while. I'll be back. Promise." Sam huffed but was back to sleep in a second.
Dean shook his head once before quietly tiptoeing out of the room. He skipped all the squeaky boards and steps and was in the kitchen within fifteen seconds.
Bobby was waiting for him at the table with a mug of what looked like apple cider beside a saucer with buttered biscuits. "Awesome." Dean couldn't keep himself from saying as he sat down and dug in. Bobby let a noise not unlike a laugh bubble out of his throat. "Sammy's gonna be so bummed he missed out." Dean mumbled through his third and last biscuit.
"I'm sure Sam gets enough to eat with you around. To be honest, I'm a little more worried about you."
Dean paused to take a sip of cooled down cider. "What do you mean?"
"You must have lost at least fifteen pounds since the last time I saw you." Bobby faked casual as he took a sip from his own mug.
Dean scoffed. "You haven't seen us in six months, Bobby."
"Yeah and you didn't have any pounds to spare back then either."
Dean looked down at his empty plate and shrugged. "Not like I've been just sitting around doing nothing."
Bobby caught the double meaning. "He's not working you too hard, is he?"
Dean rolled shoulders. "Let's just say that I don't think I see the point in training so hard that you can't do the job you're training for."
"Elaborate." Bobby said fetching Dean a glass of cool water.
Dean shook his head and did something with his mouth that had no right to be called a smile but Bobby couldn't come up with another name for it. "On the hunt before last, when we finally caught up to the rougarou Sam and I were sore because we had to do six mile runs at dawn the day before. I woulda lost a limb if Sam hadn’t pushed me outta the way."
Bobby lifted his hat, ran a slow hand over his head, and cursed. "Stupid son of a bitch. He's going to get one of you killed."
"As long as it isn't Sammy, I don't care."
Bobby slammed his mug down making Dean jump. He didn't dare raise his voice but he spoke in a deep resonating tone that demanded attention and respect. "Dean Michael Winchester, don't you ever let me hear you talk like that again."
Dean shrugged in a way that screamed helplessness. "Not saying it ain’t gonna make it not true."
Bobby's face crumpled. "Jesus. What did he do to you?"
Dean blinked and straightened in his chair. "What?"
"What did he do to make you believe that your life is somehow less valuable than that boy upstairs?"
Dean's voice was barely above a whisper. "What did he do?" Dean laughed, it was dry hysterical noise that made Bobby's chest tighten. "He shoved Sammy into my arms and said run." The middle Winchester finally looked up at Bobby, his eyes were wet. "Ever since that it was like some switch got flipped on. I can't be away from him for more than an hour without feeling itchy. I can tell when he's hungry from the other room. When he gets hurt, I swear to God, Bobby, I can feel it too. And it's not just me, I used to think it was just because he was a genius, but he can tell what I'm thinking over the fucking phone. Jesus. Is something wrong with us?"
Bobby took his time answering, not wanting to scare the boy with his knowledge on what he had just confirmed. Bobby reached over and sealed his hand over his surrogate son's wrist. "Not a damn thing." Bobby cleared his throat and tightened his grip. "Not even...not even the other part."
Dean eyes widened, "Bobby..."
Bobby released Dean's arm and patted it once. "No sense in denying it; knew from the moment I watched Sam sit by the door waiting for you to come back from a two-day hunt and you nearly kill a neighborhood kid when you were twelve for shoving Sam." Bobby smiled sadly. "Fate just decided to be a bitch and make you brothers this go 'round."
Dean listened to Bobby's words the way a pious man would listen to the voice of God; mouth agape, eyes closed. But in a moment his blissful expression was gone. "Bobby."
Bobby once again stood to pour himself a shot of Jack. "What?" Instead of answering, Dean got up and checked the entryway. Bobby snorted and stood to retrieve a shot glass and a bottle of amber liquid from the cabinet. "Boy, this place is warded against creatures you've never heard of in languages that technically don't exist. Relax."
Dean leaned against the doorway and stoically stared at the floor. "Wasn't checking for anything supernatural."
"Since there's only two other people in this house and I'd bet the farm that you aren't scared of Sam I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that you were looking for John."
Silence.
"I...I think he knows, Bobby." Dean slowly treaded away from the doorway and collapsed into his chair. It made Bobby's heart break. The boy, not even old enough to legally drink, had the exhaustion of a man four times his age. His face was haggard and twitchy like it was an effort to even keep his eyes open and he sat like Atlas; the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Silence.
Bobby hastily threw back a shot and filled his glass again with barely a breath in between. "So?"
Dean couldn't keep his mask of horror off his face. "So? Bobby, I'm twenty. In the laws eyes, I'm a pedophile or at the very least guilty of statutory rape. Dad could walk into any CPS agency or police station and turn me in."
Bobby's face remained stoic. "And Sam and I will be right here denying that crock of shit until we're blue in the face."
"But–."
"But what? He can't just separate you two, not willingly, you're joined at the hip." Bobby crouched in front of Dean, ignoring his joints groaning in protest. He placed a warm hand on Dean's tear-damp cheek. "And if he does find out, which I am praying is a big-ass if, you pick up the phone, you call me and I don't care if I'm on a hunt in Michigan and you're in Utah, I will stop mid-exorcism and come get you both. Got it?"
Dean sniffed, wiping at his nose. "Yeah, Bobby. I got it."
"Good. Now go to sleep. And I don't want to see your face again until the sun's getting ready to set."
Dean scoffed. "Can't do that; it's burning daylight."
Bobby narrowed his eyes in a challenge. "I'll deal with your daddy." Bobby nudged his surrogate nephew (son?) towards the stairs. "Good night, Dean."
"G'night, Bobby."
And when Dean slipped into bed with Sammy in his arms and Bobby's words on his mind, he'd never slept so easy.
The next morning Sam woke up to Dean's light snoring but when he felt his brother's breath on the back of his neck, moving his hair, he couldn’t help but smile. Sam lifted the hand that was resting on his stomach and took it in his.
Sam traced the lines on his brother's palm, wondering what the wannabe psychics online would say. Something vague, probably, that could honestly be true to anyone. But no matter what they said, they wouldn’t come close to all that Sam knew. Sam knew why Dean’s right pinky was slightly crooked and where he had gotten those tiny little cuts on the backs of his hands and why his hands were just that much rougher than his own. Sam knew everything there was to know about Dean. Hell, he knew even more than Dad which was saying something and also not.
Sam turned chest to chest with his brother. He breathed out a sigh of relief at Dean’s soft face. Dean looked younger when he was asleep, more at peace. The dark rings under his eyes already starting to fade. Sam couldn’t help himself from leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Dean’s lips.
Dean stirred and immediately started to kiss back. Sam’s hands relaxed on Dean’s face and chest as he let himself be pulled closer. It was one of those slow, lazy, morning kisses that made Sam’s heart flutter just as much as the hot steamy late-night ones.
"Morning." Sam cringed at his voice, it seemed too loud in the early silence. Dean grunted in greeting, kneading at Sam's waist. Sam, after some fighting, let Dean pull away to find his love bite from last night. “Oh, fuck.” Sam whispered, his voice sleep-hoarse. Dean nibbled and licked at the mark as he slid one of his hands down to Sam’s boxers.
Dean canted his hips forward. “C’mon, S’mmy. Gonna make it up to me?” Sam’s mouth dropped open. He honestly thought that Dean’s voice couldn’t have gotten any sexier but lo and behold Dean’s sleep-wrecked voice had Sam shivering.
Sam blinked and had a hand down Dean’s sleep pants in a heartbeat and while his fingers may have been slow to the draw his mouth was up and roaring. Dean groaned into his brother’s neck when his words reached his ears. “Yeah, Dean. Fuck. Still feel you from last night. Fuck, your mouth and your fingers…” Damn it. Sam rarely got the chance to use his filthy mouth because it took a while to work up to. But it was apparent that well-rested Sam had a much faster warm-up time. “Jesus. They burned but it felt so good, Dean. How many did I take, Dean? Three? Four? Next time I want your whole fist.”
“Sammy.” Dean said in warning. Warning him, that if he didn’t shut the fuck up this was going to end pretty fucking fast. Warning him not to promise things if he wasn’t going to cash in.
“I’ll take it, Dean. Swear. Take your whole fist and I won't come until you let me.”
Dean paused and took a deep calming breath before rearing up. That was fucking it. “You’re damn right, you won’t. I’ll find you some fancy cock ring and put it on while I finger you open and maybe, just maybe, if you’re good, after I wear out that sweet spot of yours I’ll let you come.” Sam turned away from Dean and bit the pillow. “How’s that sound, Sammy? Is that what you want?”
Instead of answering. Instead of saying yes. Instead of nodding. Sam just clenched his eyes shut and came with a silent scream on his lips. Dean pressed his face into Sam’s shoulder and came too, biting at his flesh to quiet him.
After the last fogs of sleep and orgasm sifted away, Dean could hear Sam saying yesyesyesyes like a litany. “God, Sammy.” Dean kissed Sam’s still moving lips and let his own rest against them. “Fucking perfect.”
Sam finally swallowed with a click and opened his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dean took the corner of the sheet –Sorry, Bobby– and wiped at his and Sam’s face and hands. He glanced at the clock. “Wanna go back to sleep?”
Sam shook his head but burrowed into Dean’s chest. "Last night, I thought you went to a bar but you don't smell like alcohol..."
"Guess you were half sleep when I told you; I didn't leave, Bobby wanted to talk to me. Man, you missed biscuits."
As soon as Dean said it, Sam could feel and taste Bobby's biscuits, warm and flaky, on his pallet. He groaned. "God, I hope he makes more."
"I'm sure he will." Dean began to trace abstract shapes on Sam's back.
"Is it a hunt?" Sam asked, trying to hide the contempt in his voice. If he failed, Dean didn't acknowledge it.
Dean shook his head. "No, he wanted to talk about..." Dean's fingers stopped mid-swirl. "About us."
"Us?"
Dean tapped Sam's shoulder in warning before sliding down the bed to meet his brother's eyes. "He knows, Sammy." Dean could have sworn he felt Sam's heart skip a beat.
"What?" Sam's voice was pulled tight like a guitar string. Dean could tell it wouldn't be long before he had a full-scale panic attack on his hands. As fast as Dean could get Sam out of them –45 seconds, at worst two minutes–, Sam’s panic attacks never ceased to scare the living shit out of Dean. As if watching his baby brother struggle to breathe wasn’t enough, watching him try to with an expression of nothing less than blind fear on his face as he begged Dean to help him was torture in and of itself.
"Sammy, calm down. It's okay." Dean put his hand on Sam's side as a silent physical reminder to breathe. "Sam, listen to me. It's okay. Bobby's okay with it...more than okay."
Dean saw Sam come back to him; finally registering his brother's words. "What?"
"God, Sam. You should have heard him, Bobby thinks we're soulmates. He said, and I quote: 'Fate just decided to be a bitch and make you brothers this go 'round.'"
Sam widened his eyes. "He said that?"
"Swear on Baby." Dean watched the light return to his brother’s eyes only to dim again. “What is it?”
“Bobby won’t tell Dad, will he?”
Dean shook his head pressing his knuckles gently against the nape of Sam’s neck. Sam purred and pressed into the touch. “Nope.”
Sam sniffed and grinned like it was Christmas Day. “I smell biscuits.”
Dean inhaled and beamed, he could also hear oil sizzling. His and Sam’s stomachs grumbled in unison. “Shower?”
“You go first.”
Dean had just found the perfect temperature and had gotten in when a heavy fist banged on the door and the door opened a second later. Damn it. Let them get along for ten fucking minutes.
Sam couldn’t help himself from jumping a mile but quickly recovered to glare at John. “Good morning, to you, too.” The syrup that dripped from Sam’s voice was as sweet as it was poisonous.
John glared right back. “Where’s Dean?”
Sam pretended to think. “Well, since I’m out here and the water’s running in the bathroom. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that he’s in the shower.”
“A simple ‘in the shower’ would have sufficed, Sam.” John’s nostrils flared as he took in the necessary breaths to calm down.
“Stupid questions get stupid answers.” Sam got up to unpack his and Dean’s bags into the chest of drawers. It was too early for this.
“Excuse me?”
“Losing your hearing?” Sam snapped before thinking. In a heartbeat, John had him turned and pinned against the bureau. The wood dug into Sam’s lower back uncomfortably. He tried to move but John just pressed harder.
“You better mind me, boy.”
Sam refused to be obedient. “And if I don’t?”
John pushed him Sam even harder, the dresser screeched as it moved fully against the wall. “Don’t test me, Sam.”
“No, I’m calling your bluff.” Sam grunted pushing back against John with all his strength, he gained an inch of space. Maybe. “I’m not scared of you; I don’t starve for your approval the way Dean does. So yeah, I dare you to hit me. Bobby’ll pump your ass full of buckshot before you can say Christo.”
John sneered at him and Sam thought he was going to finally let him go when pulled away but he yanked Sam forward just shove him again. Sam clamped his mouth shut to stifle the pained breath that dared to escape. “You forget that I am still your father, not Bobby. I can put you and Dean in a car and make sure to never come within a state’s distance of this place again. Now I decided to be nice–” Sam scoffed. “–and bring you both here a little early for Christmas but cross me again and we’ll be on the road headed to the hunts I’ve got lined up. Understand?”
“Yes.” Sam focused on the space next to John’s ear.
John leaned in, putting all his weight on Sam’s already forming bruise. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.” Sam tried to make the term of respect sound as close to asshole as possible.
John finally released him and with a nod walked out just in time for Dean to leave the connecting bathroom with a towel lazily wrapped around his waist. “What did Dad want?” He asked as he put on the clothes that Sam left out before he had begun to the put the others away.
Sam slammed the top drawer closed and stalked to the bathroom with his toiletries bag in tow. The only answer Dean got was a closed door.
Dean sighed. “Nothing good then.”
Sam waited until he turned on the water and heard the bedroom door close to let his knees give out from under him. He bit his knuckle as the once soothing water pressure hit his bruising back like barbed pellets. He refused to cry; as soon as he’d get downstairs Bobby and Dean would ask questions while John would try to keep his knowing smirk off his face.
Sam let the water wash over him for a few moments longer before washing up. Thinking he’d wasted enough of Bobby’s hot water, Sam tried to stand but a pain like a four inch deep knife wound lanced across his lower back.
“Fuck.” Sam hissed as he clutched at the tub and pushed himself into a hunched standing position. It seemed that the steeper he hunched the less strain it put on his back. He dried himself off and got dressed as slowly as possible, foregoing the torture of shoes. He took the stairs one at a time and held onto the rail but as soon as the kitchen was in sight he straightened and bit his tongue past the pain.
“Hey, Sammy! I thought you went back to sleep.” Dean muffled through his biscuit.
Bobby swatted him on the back of his head. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, boy. Thought I taught you better than that.”
Dean rolled his eyes playfully and swallowed. “Hurry up before they get cold.”
Sam headed to usual seat beside Dean only to see John occupying the one beside it. He looked up from his plate and let his eyes slowly trail from Sam’s feet to his face. He must have noticed Sam’s stiff stance because his lips curved into a smirk.
“Not hungry.”
Dean coughed out a laugh. “You, not hungry? My little brother with a vacuum for a mouth, not hungry? Sammy, come on, sit. Bobby was just talking about we’re gonna have for Christmas dinner.”
Sam sighed and walked at what he prayed looked like normal speed to his seat. He could tell that he had failed from Bobby and Dean's looks of askance. Bobby handed him a plate from the stove with eggs, sausage, and three fluffy biscuits. “Eat up, you look like a bean pole’s shadow.”
The youngest Winchester attempted a laugh but it fell short and its echo hung in the air like a dead limb. Sam reached for the strawberry jam as John did. Though the brush of their fingers was light, Sam jerked away as if he had been burned.
“Easy, I’m not contagious.” John joked.
“Can never be too safe. Isn’t that what you always say, Dad?”
John’s grip was white-knuckled on his knife, he dropped it with a clatter. Sam had to tense every muscle in his body not to cringe. “I’m gonna head out to town to get some supplies. Dean, I want you and Sam to chop some wood for the fire.”
“What is this the 50’s?” Bobby snorted into his coffee. “I can just buy some wood, John.”
“The work will do them good and save you money. We’re gonna need at least three crates full. Don’t wait up.” John stood abruptly, Sam wasn’t prepared and flinched. He didn’t relax until he heard the front door close. He painfully got out of his seat. “Like I said, I’m not hungry.” Dean opened his mouth to speak but Sam cut him off. “Green bean casserole. That’s what I want.”
Bobby finally spoke. “Sam, sit down.”
Sam felt himself stop at the kitchen’s threshold. “I want to go lie down, Bobby.”
“Tired? You just woke up, Sam.”
“What the hell was that, Sam?” Dean demanded before Bobby could barely finish, trying his hardest not to raise his voice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam slowly leaned on his side and faced the opposite wall.
“Bullshit.” Dean blurted. “Talk.”
Sam shut his eyes tight and clutched at his shirt. He knew that what he was about to say was going to hurt Dean but he said it anyway. “There’s nothing to talk about, Dean. I just don’t kiss his ass the way you do. It’s not my fault you’re too busy playing the good soldier to stop treating him like he’s some fucking saint.”
Sam felt it the moment that Dean closed himself off. “Oh, is that right?” Dean’s eyes tapered to indignant slits.
“Yes. That’s right–.”
“Sam,” Bobby’s voice was strained. “Take off your shirt.”
Sam and Dean both looked at Bobby like he’d asked Sam to hopscotch naked. “What?” Sam whispered just as Dean said. “Bobby, what the hell?”
“You heard me, Sam.” Bobby narrowed his eyes, his face grim. “Do it. Prove me wrong.”
Sam reached behind him and pulled his shirt over his head. A scattering of light pink marks decorated Sam’s chest like lipstick smudges. Dean looked down. “Bobby, that’s not–.”
“Hush, boy.” Bobby said ruefully. “I know hickeys when I see them. Turn around, Sam.”
Sam cleared his throat and tried to smile against his trembling chin. “Bobby, I really don’t see the–.” Bobby’s look withered the words in his throat. Sam looked at his brother before turning.
“Jesus.” Dean hissed. Bobby swore colorfully. Sam’s lower back, just above his waistband, was an angry red color. Not just irritated skin red, red like capillaries had burst under his skin, red like by tomorrow the colors would change to purple and blue. Dean stood carefully and walked over with measured steps.
“I-it was my fault. I egged him on; d-dared him.” Fuck, when had he started crying?
Dean ran gentle fingers over the redness. And like always, when Sam was hurting and Dean couldn’t do anything about it, Dean whispered in his most empathetic voice. “Oh, Sammy.”
A voice Sam hated right now. He hastily wiped at his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Don’t lie to us. You’re walking like a damn zombie.” Bobby watched with a look of anger and pity as Dean helped Sam back into his chair.
“I’ve had worse. Just let it go.” Sam tried to hide his pained grimace as he pulled his shirt back over his head.
Sam and Dean winced at Bobby’s raised voice. “Let it go? No, Sam, we’re not just going to let this go. I don’t care if he is your daddy, I am not gonna stand by while he beats the tar out of you.”
“Oh, yeah? Where were you the first time?” Sam can’t stop himself from blurting. Shit.
Bobby could have sworn he heard Dean’s neck crack when he turned to look at his brother. “What did you say?”
Sam looked down. “It was just one other time. You had just gotten the job at this garage, while Dad was working this case in Albuquerque and I had gotten home a little later because of soccer practice. Dad was home, shit-faced on the couch in front of the TV with a brand new bottle of whisky in his lap. Didn’t think much about it until I saw the empty fridge and pantry and two more bottles on the counter. I remember that morning when we were heading out the door you said that you were going to get dinner and Dad had stepped in and so helpfully offered to do it. He’d spent the money for groceries, for food, on alcohol, Dean. And I just…I lost it.” Sam took in a deep breath and coughed. “I took the bottle from him and smashed it. He woke up, cursing like a sailor. I asked him what the hell was wrong with him. I told him that if he didn’t want to take care of us then he shouldn’t have had kids. He didn’t like that very much; he pushed me, called me an ungrateful bastard. I…I called him a drunken coward, who’d rather drown himself in a bottle than try to raise his sons. That’s when he got really mad. He slapped me so hard I swear I fucking saw stars, pushed me to the floor where the broken glass was, and kicked me a couple of times before passing out again on the couch.”
“Sammy, what–? When? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Sam all but ignored Dean. “I had to take the glass out myself because you weren’t there and I didn’t know how I was going to explain it. When you got home and saw the bruises, I told you–.”
“That Malcolm Crassnik had jumped you on the way home. Sam, I–.”
“Don’t worry.” Sam broke in, knowing what Dean was going to say. He remembered all too well the look on Dean’s face when he had returned and saw Sam’s wounds. It was the expression he reserved for the particularly sadistic monsters as well as the ones that had managed to catch Sam off guard and hurt him. “You didn’t take your anger out on some innocent kid, he was harassing me and some other kids; he was the perfect scapegoat.”
“But why didn’t you–?” Dean started to beg.
“What would you have done, Dean?” Sam asked in a dead voice. “Yelled at him? Told him not to do it again? Roughed him up? Shot him?”
Dean stood up. “I don’t know, Sam! You didn’t even give me the chance. I would have done anything if it meant protecting you.” Dean sat back down again. “Jesus, all those times I defended him, carried his drunk ass to bed–.”
Sam smiled contritely. “You never thought it was strange that I never started a fight without you nearby? I knew you would…step in…before anything happened.”
“Those were the only times?” Bobby asked, contempt and anger bled into his words like ink into water.
Sam shrugged. “Other times he just pushed me around, said…things. But today…this was the first time he was stone-cold sober. I didn’t smell any on him.”
“Swear on my life when your father gets back–.”
“You’re not going to do anything.” Sam spoke over the beginning of Bobby’s refusal. “I don’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that I’m good for nothing but running to someone for help. Just leave it, Bobby. Please.” Sam tried to force as much emotion into that one word as he could. Bobby cursed under his breath before agreeing with a slight nod of his head. Sam watched with pity as Bobby cleaned up after him and his family. He wanted to help but it honestly hurt just to sit up straight. Bobby was putting the last of the dishes in the sink when the phone on the opposite wall rang. Bobby’s personal line.
“Singer Salvage.” Bobby’s eyes stared off into space as he listened. “What do you mean the car won’t move?” Bobby sighed as the person continued to speak. “Sounds like your transmission soiled the bed…No. You’re not going to see anything leaking–Look, where are you, Scott?” Bobby took off his hat to run an exasperated hand over his head. “Jesus. Give me an hour. Just get in your car and try not to get your penguin suit all soiled.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh. Bobby cut his eyes at him as he hung up. “The idgit would manage to fuck up his transmission all the way in Brookings.”
“Aren’t there other towing companies?” Sam asked.
“Presume so but he only trusts me with his…‘girl’. Sound familiar?” Bobby looked pointedly at Dean.
Dean smirked pompously. “At least I know how to take care of baby.”
“Do you need our help?” Sam asked as Bobby got his winter coat off the hook.
Bobby raised an eyebrow and looked at them both like he knew they wouldn’t like what he was about say. “I don’t think you’d be much help in your present state, Sam, and your brother could but wouldn’t because he’d be too busy worried about you and I can guarantee that Dean is not going to leave you on your own. So just keep warm and try not to burn my house down. I should be back before the storm starts; the snow’s only just started.” And with that Bobby left.
Sam was so sure that the moment Bobby’s tow truck had pulled out of the gravel drive that Dean was going to want to talk but instead Dean silently finished cleaning up the kitchen while Sam watched, humming Enter Sandman.
When he was done, still not saying a word, Dean turned off the lights in the kitchen and headed upstairs. Sam took the hint and followed his brother up to their room. Dean opened the curtains and blinds, revealing the radiant gray-white sky that indeed promised a bitch of a blizzard, then lay down on the bed facing the windows.
Sam hesitated, but then realized that if Dean had wanted him to get lost he probably would have said so. Dean wasn’t one to engage in the silent treatment when he was upset. Sam cleared his throat and took his time crawling into the bed. It felt strange with jeans and a thermal shirt on but when Dean lifted his shirt to wrap his arms around his middle Sam forgot all about his discomfort.
“We won’t talk about it.” Sam felt more than heard Dean’s words in his ear. “We’re just going to lie here and listen to the snow fall.”
Sam furrowed his brow, snorting. “Snow doesn’t make noise.”
“How would you know? You never shut up long enough to hear it.” Sam gasped in mock disbelief and shoved at Dean’s shoulder. Dean refused to retaliate, instead he let Sam pull his head over his shoulder to kiss him. They opened their mouths at the same moment, delving into each other’s. Sam could taste the black coffee with four tablespoons of sugar Dean had washed down his breakfast with and Dean tasted a flavor that could only be described as Sam.
Sam pulled away to settle against Dean’s chest with a contented sigh. He forced himself not to tense when Dean gently pressed the tips of his fingers into Sam’s bruised flesh. “Not gonna talk about it.” Dean assured Sam and reminded himself. Talking about it wasn’t going to do anything but make them both either sad or angry for different reasons.
And they did well; they made it nearly two hours with nothing but their breathing, Bobby’s squeaking vents, and ‘snowfall’ filling the silence.
“I want to leave.” Sam said barely above a whisper.
Dean lifted his head from Sam’s shoulder. “What?”
“I want to leave.” Sam repeated. “I want us to pack up and leave before Dad or Bobby come back.”
Dean sat up and waited for Sam to do the same. “Sam, you know I’m all for leaving but we can’t just leave with no plan. It’s illegal for me to take you across state lines without Dad’s permission.”
“We’ve done a lot of shit that’s illegal, Dean.”
“Yeah and who’s on our tails, Sam? No one. Because we used fake names. When we leave I want us to be us. There’s never been anyone to turn us in; everyone that we’ve tried to save is either grateful or dead. Do you really think Dad’s just going to let me pack you up into the car and le–?”
“Dad knows.”
Dean forced himself to speak past his clenched throat. He couldn’t let Sam know that he was scared; it would only confirm Sam’s suspicions. “What the hell are you talking about, Sam? If Dad knew–.”
“He knows, Dean. Don’t pretend like you haven’t felt it. He’s never going to just let us go.”
“Well, what do you suggest, Sammy? That we head out with no place in mind, a snowstorm on the way, and no money–?”
“We have money.” Sam interrupted blankly.
Dean closed his eyes in exasperation. “No, I have money and it is barely enough to keep you fed for more than a couple of months.” Sam pretended not to notice that Dean had said you instead of us.
Sam sighed. “You’re not the only one who’s been saving up, Dean.” Sam got up and started to rifle through his duffel.
“What?” Dean sputtered. “Where the hell did you get money?”
Sam shrugged as he felt around in his near empty bag for his sock full of cash. “Places. Bobby, sometimes before we left here, he would give me a little pocket money. And did you forget that you’re the one that taught me how to gamble?” He laughed. “I wasn’t as considerate as you at first; I spent most of it on candy and postcards.”
Dean fought a grin as he stood to get his money from his own bag. “Hey, I remember a certain chubby kid always sharing his Skittles with me.”
“Skittles don’t really compare to clothes and field trips, Dean.”
Dean shrugged and froze a moment later. “Sam, when you took my clothes out did you see an old oatmeal can?”
“No.” Sam snorted. “I’m pretty sure I would have noticed that floating around in your bag. Why?” Dean didn’t answer as he yanked the dresser drawers and tore through its contents. “Dean?” Sam watched with an open mouth as his brother desperately scoured the drawers talking to himself.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” He muttered frantically resulting to ripping their clothes out of the drawer and onto the floor. It wasn’t there.
“Dean, stop.” Sam said but logically he knew that Dean wasn’t going to stop until he had finally gotten everything out. So he waited.
Dean paid his brother no mind and went back to his bag and turned it upside down and inside out. Empty. “Goddamn it!” Dean threw the bag across the room. The brass buckles echoed as they hit the opposite wall. Sam jumped but kept quiet. Dean sprinted out of their room and without bothering to put on shoes or a coat went outside.
“Damn it, Dean.” Sam muttered to himself as he slipped his feet into the closest pair of shoes. Dean wrenched open the car door but after a cursory glance it was obvious that both the front and back seat were empty. Sam was a few feet away from Dean when he had started to kick and punch the doors of the Impala.
“Dean!” Sam called out. He finally got his brother’s attention. He took Dean’s shoulder in his hands, forcing him to look at him. Sam looked down at his hands and feet. Good. No broken fingers and no busted nails. “Dean, talk to me.”
Dean face crumpled. “It’s gone, Sammy.”
Sam took a calming breath hoping that Dean would do the same. He did. “What, Dean? The can? It’s okay, Dean. It’s just money. We can start over.”
Dean looked at Sam like he had asked him to abandon the Impala in a chop shop. “Fuck the money, Sam. The pictures were in there.”
Sam felt his stomach drop but the next moment had him rolling his shoulders. “Dean, the probability that some weird pedophile or pervy person found the pictures is pretty low and I’m sure that whoever found it took the money without a second thought to whatever else was in the can. It’s okay. It is not your fault. I’m the one that wanted the pictures taken, they are pictures of me, and I am the one that got them developed.”
Dean stifled a shiver and looked out at the snow-covered cars and machinery. “Yeah, well, thanks to me we can’t leave now.”
Sam shrugged. “It was a bad idea anyway.”
Instead of agreeing, Dean headed back inside the house, Sam on his heels. Dean flinched when his cold sore feet scuffed the coarse welcome mat. Dean inhaled sharply through his mouth. “Ah. Goddamn it.”
Sam shook his head in feigned disappointment. “Come on. Let’s take a bath. The hot water will do us good.” They take the stairs slowly; neither of them being able to tell who’s leaning on the other more.
Dean scoffed at the top of the stairs. “Didn’t peg you for a bubble bath type of guy, Sammy.”
“I said, bath.” Sam smiled impishly. “You’re the one who brought up bubbles, Dean. Got something to tell me?”
“Shut up.” Dean gently shoved his brother onto the bed, face first. A muffled “Jerk” eked its way out from the mattress. “Bitch.” Dean retorted as he started to fill up the bathtub.
Sam came out the bedroom just as Dean was slipping into the tub. He didn’t say anything for a moment; just stood there, taking in his brother’s body. Dean fought not to blush and as usual tried to ease the tension with a half-assed attempt at dry wit. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer, Sammy.”
“I would but we used all the film.” Sam retorted without thinking. To avoid seeing Dean’s reaction he stripped his clothes until he had nothing left. It wasn’t until he had straightened again that he noticed Dean had been watching him the entire time. Sam didn’t even bother hiding his blush this time. He shrugged meekly and made a what-you-see-is-what-you-get gesture. Dean made the smallest tilt of his head and Sam wasted no time getting in. He slipped easily into the already-made Sam-shaped divot of Dean’s legs.
Sam inhaled sharply when the almost too hot water touched his skin. “Jesus, Dean. I thought we were taking a bath not trying to boiling ourselves.”
“Oh, quit your bitching.” Dean said as he sat up.
Sam slipped in, waiting until he got comfortable to ask. “Do you ever think about us with different lives? You know, Mom alive. No hunting…Us being like normal brothers.”
Dean was ready to lie and say he hadn't but he thought that Sam could handle the truth. “Sometimes…I try not to.”
“Why?”
“Because it hurts. Yeah, Mom was amazing and I wish you could have really met her and remembered her and sometimes hunting seems pointless but I don’t think that if we had normal lives, we would be together the way we are.”
“Why not?”
“Think about it, we would have never been in the same school together for long, we would have had different friends. We would have had just other things going on in our lives that I don’t think we would have had time for each other. With our life now, I’m practically always around when you come home from school, I dropped out so I don’t have friends my own age and we move around too much for you to really try to make some of your own. We’re the only things in our lives that have been the same since day one and I don’t see that changing any time soon.”
Sam for once didn’t know how to respond so he let his silence answer for him. Dean slid deeper into the water and started to play with Sam’s fingers. “Do you remember when we used to play hide and seek?” Dean asked.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I always hid in the same place.” Sam thought back to those boring days of summer break at Bobby’s that turned into an adventure when Dean had started a game of hide and seek. Sam had always tried to find the perfect hiding space but without fail had always ended up in Bobby’s toolshed. No matter how quiet and attentive Sam had tried to be Dean had always managed to find him and sneak up on him. Instead of being a sore winner, though, Dean would turn into the dreaded tickle monster until Sam’s pout disappeared. “Why do you ask?”
Dean grinned, shrugging sheepishly. “Just remembering…down time, you know? Relaxing is a four letter word when it comes to Dad. When we came here for the summer; it was too hot to stay indoors. I’d work on the car while you read, pretending not to watch me.” Sam blushed. “The music playing. It was just…easy.”
“The only thing missing was a dog.” Sam pursed his lips. “I want a dog.”
His brother rolled his eyes playfully. “Trust me, I know, Sammy.”
“No, I’m serious, when we…when it’s…when we go out on our own, I want a dog, a big one.”
Dean clasped Sam’s hand in his and nuzzled into his neck. “Whatever you want, Sammy…though that kinda rules out apartments.”
Sam deflated. “Yeah.”
“Hey, we got plenty of time to think about it. We’ll figure it out.” Dean released Sam’s hand and wrapped his around his waist. “Is the water helping?” Sam nodded, leaning into Dean’s touch. “Why was he mad?”
Sam shrugged, instantly wincing. “Talked back, I guess. I don’t know what happens to me when it comes to him, he just makes me…I see red and I just…snap. The way he looks at me; it’s like I’m the disappointment of the century.”
“I really wish you had told me, Sammy.”
Sam looked down at their intermingled feet. “I didn’t want to be any more of a burden.”
Dean let out a dead laugh. “I swear to God, Sammy, you are the dumbest smart person I have ever met.”
“What?”
“You need to get it through your thick skull that you’re not a burden, especially not to me. I like taking care of you. I like buying things that make you happy no matter how dirt broke they might make me. I like driving you to school. I like teaching assholes not to fuck with you. Jesus, what do you think big brothers are for?” Sam opened his mouth only to close it. He whipped around, not giving a shit about his back or the quart of water that spilled over the side. Dean was ready for him though, helping Sam’s legs over his. “Wasn’t being rhetorical, Sam. What do you think big brothers are for?”
Dean’s fingers trailed down Sam’s back, skipping over his lower back to his ass. Sam stood up on his knees, shivering when his warm skin was met with the tepid air of the room. Sam opened his mouth over Dean’s, stalling for a moment before answering. “To make their little brother’s happy.”
“That’s right.” Dean tugged gently at Sam’s balls. “You want me to make you happy, Sammy?”
Sam let out a half-sob. “Yes. Please, Dean.”
And Dean did what he did best; made his little brother happy.
When Sam had started to shiver against Dean’s chest, he knew it was time to get out. Goosebumps immediately sprouted on both the boy’s skin. “Jesus, it’s cold.” Sam rubbed at his damp arms. “Did the heat go out?”
“I don’t know.” Dean opened the door and quickly shut it. An icy gust of wind filled the small room, soaking up the remainder of the warm air from their bath. “Fuck, feels like outside.”
“We gotta go downstairs and get a fire started. Bobby can fix the heat when he gets back.” Sam said. He quickly dried himself off and tossed the towels to Dean who did the same.
They cursed colorfully when their bare feet touched the cold hardwood floors. Dean pushed Sam onto the bed and grabbed their warmest clothes from the chest of drawers. They both pulled on their only pairs of thick socks, two pairs of sweats, and layered two tees under their hoodies. Dean heated up the leftover cider from last night while Sam threw the last of the firewood into the fireplace. He winced when he had to use the cold metal stoker to move the slowly lighting logs.
Dean came up behind Sam, holding out a steaming mug and a towel. Sam took the mug gratefully and leaned up against the couch. “Well, Dad’s right about one thing.” Dean said as he sat beside Sam. “You should have gotten a haircut; it’s why you’re still shivering.” Dean set his own mug down and wrapped the towel around his brother’s neck.
“How’d you get the towel warm?” Sam asked.
“Put it next to the stove while I made the cider.” Dean pulled a blanket from off the couch and laid it over their backs. “How long do you think that wood’ll last?”
“Half an hour, forty-five minutes tops.”
“Here.” Dean sighed, handing Sam his cider.
He started to get up when Sam pulled him back down. “Wait, don’t. I don’t want you to be out there alone, I’ll go with you when I’m warmed up.”
Dean scoffed. “What’s gonna attack me, Sammy? A moose?”
“Moose aren’t indigenous to South Dakota.” Sam muttered. “And, no. I’m more concerned about you passing out from the cold and developing hypothermia.”
Dean rolled his eyes but sat back down next to his brother. “Fine, worrywart.”
Sam gave Dean a knowing sidelong look. “Would you let me go out there by myself?” Dean cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink to avoid answering. Sam smirked. “That’s what I thought.”
Sam leaned back against the couch and rested his head against Dean’s shoulder, watching the flames flicker and grow. Dean began to hum a song, Sam couldn’t remember the name of it but he knew it was by Metallica. It was soothing.
The smell of the burning wood and tinder filled the immediate space around them and the warmth of the fire gave off a sense of security. This was home. Home wasn’t a place to Sam; it was an idea, a feeling. Home was next to Dean. Home was safe, happy, and free. Home was something that couldn’t be taken from him no matter how many times John had uprooted them and moved. Dean’s arms were stable and strong more so than some rundown house made of aging wood and plaster or some thin-walled motel room. Sam remembered back to the time when he was in the first grade and one of his classmates had asked him where he lived. Even back then he knew he couldn’t say that he and his family lived in the motel up the street so he said the first thing that had come to his mind: Dean.
Sam’s eyelids turned heavy and Sam only bothered fighting his tiredness for a short while before he gave in.
Sam awoke to muffled grunting and a dark frigid living room. Aside from the temperature of the room, it was obvious from the absolute lack of heat that the fire had long died out. Sam noticed that he had been placed on the couch and two additional quilts and blankets had been wrapped around him.
“Dean?” Sam held the quilt tighter around him as he got up, following the noises to the direction of the kitchen.
“Outside!” Dean called.
Sam slipped into a pair of Bobby’s boots and one of his coats that hung on a hook by the backdoor before heading out into the cold. He squinted through the light snowfall to find Dean in nothing but jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves folded up to his elbows, chopping wood like a natural lumberjack.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Sam said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the wind and the sound of Dean’s axe splitting the logs.
“One, because of your back and two, you hate the cold.” Dean said, wiping at his brow. He picked up the halved pieces and tossed them onto a steadily growing pile.
Sam rolled his eyes and picked up one of the stray axes leaning up against the trunk beside Dean. “I’ll be fine and you hate the cold just as much as I do.” Dean smirked and buried the axe into the stump. He pulled off his flannel as well as the undershirt he wore underneath. Sam widened his eyes. “Dean, what the hell? Do you want to get hypothermia?”
Dean shrugged and set another log on the stump to be cut. “I’m trying to be one with nature, Sammy, get back to my roots.”
“Okay, Remus.” Sam scoffed, picking up one of the spare axes.
“Not cool, he’s the one that dies.”
“Careful, Captain Obvious, don’t strain yourself.” Sam doesn’t see it or hear it but he sure as hell feels the snowball hit him square in the face. He turned and gave his brother such a pungent bitchface that Dean almost felt bad. Almost. “I’m not gonna get into this with you, Dean.”
“Why? Because you know you’ll lose?”
“No, because I don’t want to be the one partially responsible for you getting a cold. Put your damn clothes back on, Dean.”
“Make me.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Not your caretaker; you wanna get sick that’s on you but don’t expect me to wait on you hand and foot.”
Dean let a sharp burst of laughter as he resumed chopping wood. “Ha! I call bullshit. You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from taking care of sick me.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sam slammed the axe right in the middle of the log, making two perfectly even pieces. “And why’s that, Dean?”
“Come on, Sammy. Who took care of you when you got strep throat two months ago? Or when you sprained your ankle on that Wendigo hunt? Or when you got that flu two years ago? So bad, I might add, that you couldn’t walk. Or even better when–.”
Dean was so into proving Sam wrong that he didn’t even notice Sam closing the distance between them. Sam put his mouth on Dean’s. “You. You did.” The redness that flushed Dean’s cheeks could have been from the cold but it wasn’t likely.
Dean pulled away from Sam reluctantly. “Come on, let’s hurry up and finish up so we can go back inside. I’m getting hungry.”
Sam laughed and went back to chopping wood. “What a surprise.”
“Bitch.” Dean muttered.
Instead of following up with his usual reply, Sam threw Dean a mischievous smile. “You love me.”
Dean didn’t outwardly agree but the smile that he tried to fight off his face said it all.
Sam and Dean contentedly continued to split logs to the picturesque backdrop of the woods behind Bobby’s house. The thick green pine trees concentrated to the perimeter of the property surrounding them in a dark, dense wooded area that made Sam both curious and wary. The sounds of birds and any other woodland creatures that inhabited the woods made quiet noises that were too few and far in between. For long moments Sam and Dean were the only sources of sound outside; their axes striking the wood was rhythmic and in sync as was their breathing and occasionally grunts of exertion.
When Sam’s arms and back had started to ache, he stopped swinging and stood up straight. “You wanna do a few more and then be done?”
Dean nodded but didn’t bother stopping the system he had going.
They finished within seconds of each other. Sam set his axe down and went to fetch the nearly empty wheelbarrow a few paces over. He and Dean loaded it with the firewood, bringing it to the house in a handful of easy trips.
Dean’s hopes of the heat miraculously switching back on were dashed when he entered the house and was no warmer than he had been outside. Dean turned on the oven while Sam started the fireplace again, trying to warm up at least the lower level of the house.
As Dean searched the cabinets and fridge for potential ingredients for dinner Sam collapsed on the couch and turned on the TV. One of the great things about Bobby was that he got bored too and often found entertainment in shows like Whopner and the like.
“Hey, Sammy!” Dean called from the kitchen. He searched the cabinets and fridge for potential ingredients for dinner.
“Yeah?” Sam replied.
“Pick one: spaghetti or–.”
“Spaghetti.” Sam interrupted.
Dean chuckled to himself. “Right.”
The water was just beginning to boil when Bobby’s house phone rang. Dean hopped on to the counter and grabbed the phone off the hook before the fourth ring. “Singer Salvage. Bobby’s not h–.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Dean, I have been calling your cell for the last half hour.” Bobby’s voice came in crackly and rushed through the speaker.
Dean cursed under his breath. “Sorry. When we had gotten out of the shower the heat was out so I didn’t put my jeans back on. Did you need something?” Dean pulled a couple of jars of pasta sauce from Bobby’s cabinet. Dean looked up as Sam walked into the kitchen, a curious look on his face. “Bobby.” Dean mouthed. He beckoned Sam over and positioned the phone so they could both hear.
“Right here, Bobby.” Sam said.
“Both of you need to listen to me very carefully, you need to get out of the house right now.”
Sam and Dean looked sideways at each other. “What do mean, Bobby?”
“Bobby, you’re not making any sense.” Dean said. “Did your car break down or something?”
“No. Get only what you need and get out.”
Neither Dean nor Sam had a chance to ask another question before Bobby hung up. Dean stared at the phone in confusion as he put it back on the hook. He looked at Sam and shook his head. “Bobby said to run so let’s run.”
Dean turned off the stove and him and Sam slipped back into their boots and coats.
Dean started to head for the door, “Wait.” Sam ran upstairs and hastily made an emergency bag. He couldn’t find his own stash of money so he emptied the pockets of both his and Dean’s clothes he grabbed both their wallets with their IDs –both real and fake–, Dean’s cell phone and its charger, and his knife and Dean’s favorite gun.
Dean was impatiently bouncing on the balls of his feet by the door.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
Both of them ran to the car, neither of them bothering to put on their seatbelts as Dean whipped the Impala off of Bobby’s property. As soon as Dean was on the road, Sam called Bobby.
“You boys out of the house?”
“Yeah.” Sam said, taking the phone away from his ear so he could put it on speaker. “Bobby, what’s going on? Where are you?”
“I'm stranded is where the hell I am.”
“Bobby, you’re not making any sense.” Dean spoke up. “Where are Sam and I supposed to be going? We can’t just drive forever for no reason. What’s Dad gonna–?”
“Who do you think I’m saving you from, boy?” Bobby blurted. At the boys’ silence he sighed, giving in. “I was on my way back from helping Scott when John called and asked me to meet him for drinks. So I did. As soon as I got there he started spouting some bullshit about knowing it all along, saying that Sam had manipulated Dean because Dean couldn’t say no to him. I tried to sway him, throw him off track, but he wouldn’t listen and I know it was stupid but…I tried to tell him the truth. I asked him that if you and Sam were together would it be so bad if you both were consenting. That was when he got all pissed and stormed out. He tried to get in his truck and but I knew where his head was, so I tried to take his keys.” Bobby made a pained grunt. “And got an elbow to the ribs for my troubles.”
“But where are you now?” Dean asked, stopping at a streetlight. Since there was no one around he put the car park.
“Sittin’ in the bar. Your daddy took my keys and slashed my tires.”
“We’ll come and get you.” Sam said.
“No, don’t worry about me,” Bobby told them, “just get the hell out of dodge…”
“What is it, Bobby?” Dean asked, sensing the man’s hesitation.
Bobby exhaled a heavy sigh that thundered against the speakerphone. “…The look in his eyes...I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“We’re coming to get you.” Sam repeated, leaving no room for argument. “We’d feel safer with you.”
Bobby was quiet for a moment. “Alright, I’m at Quincy’s. It’s right down the street and across from the Meijer’s.”
Dean shifted the car back to drive. “Got it.” He said. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Stay here and keep the car running.” Sam told Dean. Dean hesitated but nodded. Sam went in to the bar and scanned the patrons. Bobby was leaning awkwardly against the wooden wall at one of the high tables. Sam made a beeline for him and helped him toward the door, ignoring the stares.
“Before we get in the car…” Sam said purposefully walking slower than necessary. “…is there any chance?”
Bobby looked the boy straight in the eye. “No.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Dean was out and opening the back door as soon as he saw them. “I’m good, you guys. I’m good.” Bobby assured him as he slowly slipped into the backseat.
“Are you sure?” Dean asked, sliding back into the driver’s seat.
“Yeah, it ain’t broken or cracked.”
“How do you know?” Sam said skeptically.
Bobby let out a short laugh. “’Cause I know what cracked and broken feels like, boy, and trust me, this ain’t it. I’ll be good once I get some ice.”
“So where to?” Dean asked, blasting the heat.
Bobby said nothing for a moment, causing both Sam and Dean to turn to him. “That’s really up to you two.”
Dean opened his mouth to speak but Bobby raised a hand, demanding silence. “Hear me out. You have two options. We can drive and not look back except when we look over our shoulders or we can go back to my house where your daddy is no doubt waiting for us, let him have his bitch fit and if he won’t see reason we’ll send him on his merry way and you boys are welcome to stay with me.”
“Are you sure?” Sam said.
“Sure as the sky is blue.”
From the outside Bobby’s house would have looked no more formidable than any other to the mundane passerby but to Sam and Dean a cold chill ran down their spines when they saw their father’s black pickup parked in front.
Dean coasted to a gentle stop and took the key out of the ignition. “Ready, Sammy?”
To Dean’s impressed surprise Sam nodded resolutely. “I’m with you.”
Bobby shook his head as he got out. “You boys are killing me.” He muttered sadly. Sam got out next and waited patiently for Dean to round the car to him. He held out his hand as soon as his brother was in range.
Dean took it and with one final deep breath they walked hand-in-hand with Bobby at Sam’s flank up to the front door.
The door was ajar and slightly warmer air eked out of the crack, teasing Dean’s cold fingers as he pushed the door open. A heavy pine-scented fire was roaring under the mantle illuminating only the immediate surrounding area and leaving the rest of house dark. The house failed to smell like pine or anything remotely of hearth. The sharp, staling odor of tobacco was settling in the room and making itself comfortable like dying vermin.
“Come in, boys, have a seat.” John said from the chair directly beside the fireplace. He pressed his cigarette into Bobby’s sidetable.
“Actually, we’d rather stand.” Sam replied, squeezing his brother’s hand so his voice wouldn’t shake.
John laughed and stood slowly, turning toward his sons and Bobby. “Right.” His eyes trailed over Sam and Dean eventually landing on their linked hands, his right eye twitched and his mouth curled into a deep sneer before neutralizing. “I found a hunt in New York–.”
“Good.” Sam blurted. “Have fun.”
John’s sneer bent into a smirk. “It’s a rougarou, we haven’t hunted one of those in awhile; it’ll be a good opportunity to brush up on the lore.”
“You really gonna take them on a hunt so close to Christmas–?” Bobby started.
“Yes.” John cut off. “Sam, go pack.”
Even it weren’t for the fact that the hunt John had found was complete bullshit, taking only Sam when Dean was perfectly healthy and much more accustomed to hunting raised red flags for Bobby. From John’s ravings in the bar it was clear that he blamed Sam for their relationship and it was no secret to anyone that knew the Winchesters that John and Sam rarely, if ever, saw eye to eye. Sam was always the skeptic, the doubter while Dean was the devout soldier in his father’s army, always ready for the next order. Bobby could only think of one reason why John would want to be alone with Sam so far away from him and Dean and it left him with a deep harrowing hole in his gut.
Sam muttered something too low for anyone to hear and had yet to move. “What was that?” John asked.
“I said, go fuck yourself.” Sam snapped. “Cut the bullshit, John, we know you know–.”
“Know what?” John was quick to follow-up, taking a small step forward. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a small pile of white paper. He threw it on the floor at their feet. “Know that when I’m not around this happens and God only know what the fuck else.” Sam, Dean and Bobby all looked down. Most of the pieces of paper had remained white but a few of the others (enough) had overturned showcasing Sam’s white love-bitten flesh. “How long has this been going on?”
No one answered. Bobby didn’t know. Dean was staring at the photos on the floor as if they would spontaneously combust. And Sam didn’t think it mattered, whether he said a day or a year John would still be just as pissed.
“Answer me!” John bellowed. Dean jumped.
“Two years.” Sam deadpanned. “Happy now?”
Dean made a pained noise in the back of his throat. “Y-you took them?” He whispered.
John scoffed. “I highly doubt anyone will care about your privacy, Dean, when I show them the naked pictures of a minor I found.”
“You can’t–.” Sam started.
“I can.” John said. “But I won’t if we leave and never come back.”
“John, don’t do this.” Bobby spoke up. “Just leave the kids be. You don’t like it, fine. And you don’t necessarily have to condone it either but taking them away from each other is just cruel. We live outside the norm; we don’t follow the rules of the world…you can leave and never have to think of them again.”
“I am not leaving–.”
“Why not? You want to torture Sam some more? Don’t give me that look. Separating them isn’t enough; you have take Sam so you can beat him down with your words and fists without anyone stepping in. Yeah, he told me and you’re lucky I’m not in arms reach of my shotgun, I’d pump your ass full of buckshot.”
“They’re my sons, Bobby, not yours. I’ll discipline them as I see fit.”
“They might as well be mine, they can’t wait for you to bring them around here and you know it, which is why you’ve made it your job to bring them around less and less. And of course they’ll never say a damn thing to you too scared of getting the tar beat out of ‘em. Fear ain’t respect or love, John.”
John didn’t speak for a while, just stared at Bobby as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Bobby, you cannot honestly be okay with this.” John harshly gestured to Dean and Sam’s linked hands. Dean fought to keep his face neutral as he felt Sam’s hand in his back pocket.
“Actually, I am.” Bobby replied. He had noticed Sam’s movement as well and tried to keep John’s attention on himself.
“Dad, stop.” Dean spoke up. “Sam didn’t force me and I didn’t force him…it just happened.”
“Then it can just stop.” John countered. “This isn’t right, Dean, you have to know that. I don’t know what Sam has told you but–.”
“I have told him anything except the truth.” Sam cut in.
“Your truth.”
Sam sighed. “There’s no point in arguing with you, Dad, we’re all just wasting our breath. You’re never going to be okay with it…so just go.” Sam finally let go of Dean’s hand and took a step in front of Dean. “I’m not saying we have to write each other out of our lives forever but Dean and I are tired. We’re tired, Dad, of moving around and changing schools and barely scraping by. You made the decision to live this life when Dean and I were too young to say different, before we even knew different and you can say that we’ve changed or that I’ve manipulated Dean all you want but the only thing that’s changed is that we know better.”
“And incest is part of knowing better?” John spat.
Sam felt Dean flinch at his side but Sam let his father’s words roll off his back. “Yes.”
There was a long moment of silence, nothing but wind and a roaring fire sounding naturally.
John straightened. “Fine.” In the next second there was an ear-splitting gunshot and a scream. Bobby was on the floor clutching his left leg.
Bobby shouted. “What the hell, John?”
“Dad–!”
John pointed the gun at Sam. “I’m doing what’s best for them, Bobby, even if you can’t see it. Sam, go upstairs and pack. Now.”
Sam shook his head. “No.”
John shot at Dean’s feet. “I won’t miss next time, Sam. Go pack. Dean, help Bobby get his leg elevated.”
“What?” Dean’s voice was hoarse with confusion and betrayal. “No, you can’t–.”
“Now!” John shouted. Sam squeezed Dean’s hand twice before letting go and going upstairs.
Dean leaned down and wrapped Bobby’s arm around his neck and half-carried him to the kitchen. He lifted Bobby’s shot leg into another chair. “Jesus, Bobby,” Dean whispered, grabbing a dishtowel and adding pressure to his wound. “I’m sorry. You told us not to–.”
“It’s alright, son. Not your fault.” Bobby took a sidelong glance at John who was waiting impatiently at the bottom of the stairs.
Dean pressed harshly on Bobby’s gunshot wound, causing him to call out. “Sorry.” Dean caught Bobby’s gaze and pointedly looked at the front door.
“Sam!” John called. “You have one more minute before I come up there.”
John’s heavy feet climbed the stairs only to come back down a few seconds later. “Where is he, Dean?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
John grabbed Dean up by his shirt. “You know what I’m talking about. Your brother’s not upstairs, so where is he?”
Dean narrowed his eyes and wrenched himself out of his father’s grip. “I don’t know. Probably outside where the cops are waiting for you.”
“What the hell are you–?”
Suddenly Bobby’s front door burst open and four men clad in blue and black police uniforms entered. “Sir, put the gun down now!”
John did nothing for a moment just looked around at the cops, Bobby, and Dean before dropping the gun. Two of the men were on him in the next moment, snapping on the cuffs while another picked up John’s gun and disassembled it. The last cop, the youngest, went over to check Bobby’s leg.
“Lucky bastard, Bobby,” He said as he took a closer look. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Sure as hell don’t feel like it, James.”
“Hey, I’m on duty, old man.” The cop said as he began to rewrap Bobby’s leg, “It’s Officer Michaels.”
“Where’s my brother?” Dean blurted when Sam still had yet to come in even after John had been put in the squad car and driven away.
Officer Michaels stood. “I assumed he was in here with y–.”
Dean didn’t even bother waiting for him to finish; he threw open the back door and without a second thought stepped out into the cold snowfall.
“Sam!” Dean yelled at the top of his lungs. “Sammy!” Dean screamed and kept screaming until his voice was hoarse and he could no longer feel his face. He fell to his knees, not caring that his jeans dampened the moment they touch the snow-covered ground.
Footsteps crunched in the snow and Dean snapped his head up in hope only to drop it in defeat when he saw it wasn’t Sam.
“Last time I checked you couldn’t find something standing still.” Officer Michaels said coming to stand next to Dean.
“I’m not looking for some thing I’m looking for my brother.” Dean snapped.
“Sitting there in the snow, looking at the ground?” He quipped. “Not likely.”
Dean stood. “I’m trying to think about where he would go.”
“I can help if you’d like.” Dean said nothing. “What was the last thing you and Sam talked about?”
Dean shrugged. “Nothing, just brother stuff, you know? Teasing, nothing important.”
Officer Michaels raised a skeptic eyebrow, “That’s the best you got? I thought you were a hunter, on his way to being one of the best if Bobby’s to be believed.” Dean looked at the cop in shock. He laughed. “We’ll talk later. Right now, I need you to think. You’d be surprised but people tend to be pretty simple when they need to hide in a rush. They usually hide in the first place that comes to mind and the first place that comes to mind usually has to do with the last thing they talked about. So think, Dean.”
Dean closed his eyes and went through every one of his moments with Sam. “We, uh, talked about going out on our own…”
“Any place in particular?” James asked, sliding his gloves out of his pocket and putting them on.
Dean shook his head. “No, not really.”
“Anything else?”
Dean made a helpless noise. “I don’t know. Jesus, we talked about going out on our own, we talked about getting a dog, we talked about–.” Dean stopped and took off running, only half paying attention to the cop struggling to keep up behind him. It was difficult to run through the snow that was heavily making its way to the ground but Dean powered through it. The cold wind had numbed his face to the point where the wind was nothing more than soft caresses against his cheeks.
Dean didn’t stop running until he reached Bobby’s toolshed. He tried pushing it open but the door wouldn’t budge. “Sam? Open up, it’s me!”
There was a loud dragging noise and a moment later the door opened. Dean waited the necessary split-second before snatching Sam up in a tight hug. “God, Sam, scared the shit out of me.” Sam didn’t say anything just hugged his brother tighter and burrowed his face into his brother’s neck. It took Dean a moment to realize that Sam wasn’t shaking from the cold. “Sammy?”
“It’s my leg.”
Dean looked down and sure enough Sam was favoring his right leg. “Here, sit down.” Dean helped Sam to a lone chair at Bobby’s worktable. He knelt and rubbed at Sam’s arms and hands, gently checking for any other injuries. James noticed they had no hurry to get back inside so he took the hint.
“When you guys are ready, I can take a look at that inside.” The officer hadn’t spoken above a whisper but both Sam and Dean jumped slightly. He gave them a curt nod before heading outside.
The moment the wind shut the door Sam pulled Dean in for a kiss. Both of their lips were as cold as the other’s so they felt nothing but imaginary warmth. Their kiss was desperate and devastating. They had been on the cusp of something they saw worse than death; separation.
It was hard to tell which one dreaded the idea more. Sam was making small whines in the back of his throat and Dean was holding Sam’s head in an almost vice grip.
Sam pulled away and rested his head against Dean’s, their breathing heavy. “Is he gone?”
Dean nodded letting his nose knock against Sam’s. “Yeah, Sammy, he’s gone.”